


The Blindness of the Watchdog

by lukeloops



Series: The Book Of Guardians [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Ciel is part demon in case you missed the memo, Death, F/M, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence, drugs cw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukeloops/pseuds/lukeloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'The Guardians of St Zita'. Ciel's newfound abilities are proving useful in doing his duties to the Queen. But there will of course to be a price to pay. At least Lizzie and Sebastian will be by his side through everything... right?</p><p>A tale of murder and mortality, in which the very notion of loyalty is brought to the autopsy table, and our protagonists must learn an important lesson about what it really means to have human desires and fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at it again! The 'Mature' rating is sort of a caution at the moment, as I will be dealing with some rather dark adult themes in this story. But it won't all be doom and gloom, I promise.

Lizzie closes her book with a sigh. It’s now eleven at night, and Ciel never comes in past ten. This latest case must be important if it’s his second night out.

Three months. She sighs again. Three months they have been married, and although she reminds herself that her husband is the Queen’s Watchdog and his duty is a vital one, she is starting to feel like she has taken a back seat in his life once again.

It’s not like she couldn’t be useful to him. She’s already proved herself intelligent, and capable of defending him. But still, Ciel is reluctant to share the details of his work with her.

And apparently not of the opinion that coming home to his wife in the evening is also important.

It would be petty to be jealous. The fact of the matter is that Lizzie is _bored_.

Her eyes fall on the jewelry box next to her bed. Amongst the treasures she has inherited, there nestles a large, flat locket of unassuming grey metal, on a chain decorated with beads of an unknown green stone- the same colour as her eyes. Inside the locket is a piece of an old Death Scythe, the tool used by Grim Reapers to harvest a human’s soul when it is their time of death. The weapon gifted to her three months ago by one of those so-called Gods of Death, ironically for the purpose of saving her husband’s life.

Lizzie makes a decision there and then. Although it’s summer now, the nights have been cold, so the large window that looks onto the driveway and the bulk of the gardens is closed. She throws off the covers, crosses the room, and very deliberately slides the lower part of the frame upwards, leaving a two-foot gap. Then she pulls the curtains back into place and returns to bed.

Exactly twenty-four hours later, her visitor turns up. Lizzie is waiting.

“Take me on an adventure.” She tells him.


	2. His Lordship, Investigating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel has a new case to crack, involving a string of strange deaths and a whisper about something called Venom Salt.

“So then.” Ciel leans back in his chair, closing his eye. “Run through everything we know one more time.”

Sebastian bows his head and then clears his throat. “A week ago, four bodies were found in different parts of the city and at different times, but all appeared to have been killed by the same cause. Since then, a total of thirteen victims have been found, all of whom died as a result of choking on their own blood. The only other similarity was-“

“The eyes.” Ciel nods. He’s not easily perturbed, but he shivers at the memory of the corpses laid out in the Undertaker’s basement; each with their eyes rolled right back into their skull, giving their greying faces the most unsettling of blank expressions.

“Indeed.” Sebastian refills Ciel’s teacup. “And you believe these deaths to be the result of a new drug, young Master, but none of your contacts have thus far been able to point us anywhere in the right direction. Meanwhile, Scotland Yard have searched the bodies for traces of poisoning or infection, and found none.”

“And what about your own search?” Ciel sips his tea, opening his eye again to look questioningly up at his butler.

“No unusual substances beneath the fingernails, or in the mouth or nasal cavities. Neither were there any fresh needle pricks. If a substance has caused this then it was most likely inhaled as smoke, leaving it harder to detect.”

The Earl sighs deeply. “It’s frustrating how little we have to go on. But I am certain that a drug is to blame. About a month ago I heard whispers of something called Venom Salt that could give one unimaginable visions- there were plans to have some shipped to England for the first time. And whilst nobody has apparently been successful yet- indeed, only a few have even heard the name- I’m still convinced this has something to do with the deaths. Think about it. A drug that causes you to see extraordinary things? If it’s going to do something strange to the body, it’s only logical that it would affect the eyes.”

Sebastian is now clearing away the teamaking paraphernalia. “My Lord,” he says in his smooth voice, “I wouldn’t doubt for one moment your instincts. However, I suggest that perhaps you revisit your methods?”

“What do you- Oh, I see.” Comprehension dawns on Ciel’s face. “If I want to know more about Venom Salt then I should pose as a buyer, rather than an investigator. It seems that you have a use after all.”

“Very good Sir.” Sebastian waits until his back is turned before rolling his eyes.

 

By afternoon, they are stepping over the threshold of a familiar den of illicit activity. Ciel inhales deeply as the door closes behind him- he’s always despised the smell of the opium smoke that hangs in the air, but his mostly-dormant Demonic side stirs for a moment to appreciate the scent of raw, human _sin_. Smugglers with their gold jewelry lounge at the tables along the walls, prostitutes poised on the arms of their chairs or perched on their laps. Bags of coins and little wrapped packages pass from hand to hand beneath tables. The ripples of muttering around the room are almost visible like the clouds of smoke, shifting and drifting and always just out of reach.

Sebastian places a hand on Ciel’s shoulder. “Should I wait here young Master?”

Ciel shakes off the clinging stench of vice. “Yes.” He blinks a few more times, before drawing his collar further up and descending the creaky wooden stairs, down to the stuffy little lounge from which Lau conducts his business transactions.

“Has the little Earl not been taught to knock?” The man is lying on the luxuriously thick carpet, puffing on his ever-present opium pipe with his head and shoulders reclined in Ran-Mao’s lap. She scans up and down Ciel’s figure with her large black eyes, and gives the tiniest of nods.

He steps forward. “Lau. I wished to find you without company as soon as I could. This is a highly secret matter.”

“Always with whispers and concealment.” The drug trader blows a cloud of smoke in Ciel’s face. “But even you don’t come here alone, not usually.”

Ciel decides, not for the first time, that Lau is the most irritating person he has ever encountered. To Hell with riddles and rhetorical questions, he will get straight to the bottom of this.  
“Two words. Venom Salt.”

That does it. Lau’s eyes open wide and glance shiftily from side to side before fixing on his visitor. The whites are starting to turn yellow.  
“So the rumours are true. The Earl Phantomhive has been asking after the legend that is Venom Salt. Just who are you trying to frame, Master Ciel? And what for?”

“Nobody, and nothing.” Ciel reaches into his pocket and withdraws a pouch heavy with money, which he tosses carelessly onto the carpet in front of Lau, who’s greedy eyes twitch at the sight. “I want to get my hands on some.”

 

 

Ordinarily, the risk of being outed to the Yard or the Queen’s servants as a drug buyer would outweigh the benefits of his plan coming to fruition, but this time round, Ciel feels like he has very little to lose. And naturally, he stands to gain a great deal. He knows it- ever since the incident three months ago, he has had a gut feeling that never lets him down. A sixth sense. He just _knows_ things.

So he is unsurprised, but rather smug, when Sebastian brings a letter to his study that very evening.

“It seems that money talks as much as ever,” he comments, reading the correspondence. It’s short and to the point, with no seal or signature. And it’s written in human blood.  
Ciel rereads the words on the paper several more times, before scrunching the letter into a ball and throwing it into the fireplace.   
“We’re in luck.” He announces. “There is a dealer of Venom Salt in London, and he is willing to carry out a transaction tonight.”

Sebastian clicks his fingers and roaring flames burst into life in the fireplace before dying away just as quickly as they appeared, leaving no trace of the letter. “Then I shall begin preparations,” he says, with just a hint of an upwards twitch at the corner of his mouth.

 

It’s uncharacteristically cold for July. Ciel keeps the hood of his cloak drawn tight around him both for anonymity and warmth. Exactly midnight, the bloody pen-markings had said, on Beak’s bridge. It is ten to the hour now, and they stand motionless on the bridge, Ciel with his back to the railings and Sebastian facing the other way, using the reflected shadows in the murky water below them as a guide for any movement occurring nearby and counting the ticks of his pocket-watch.

Precisely as the minutes and seconds revert to zero, somebody begins to pass over the bridge. They’ve been staking the place out for half an hour and have seen only one other person, and so it’s safe to assume that nobody crosses this quiet, rather dilapidated bridge by accident.

The somebody that is approaching must be elderly or very sick, for they walk in a hunched, shuffling gate, keeping a hooded brown cloak firmly wrapped around them to hide from cold or prying eyes or both. When they are within ten or so feet of Ciel, he lowers his own hood and steps forward, signaling that he is waiting to meet someone.  
The figure in the brown cloak stops and looks the Earl up and down a few times, then does the same to Sebastian, and then approaches much more slowly.

“Credentials,” hisses a voice from under the hood. Gnarly, male. Seemingly ancient, but that could be exaggerated by addiction.

Ciel answers by tossing another pouch of money onto the ground. This one has his seal on it. The elderly man stoops and snatches up the small fortune, stowing it safely in a pocket, before straightening up and lifting his hood just a few inches so Ciel can see his sunken, yellowing eyes.

“I’m just a foot soldier, I don’t even know the name of the bloke what gives me the goods to hand out. So there’s no point lookin’ fer me. ‘Ere.” He grasps one of Ciel’s hands with his own and places an ordinary-looking snuffbox into the young man’s palm. “May the Lord find you again.”

Ciel frowns distastefully as he pockets the snuff box. “What does religion have to do with any of this?”

The old man’s eyes are foggy and dull, but earnest. “Anyone what resorts to taking what’s in that there snuff box ‘as gotta be all but beyond salvation. You’re a young’un, maybe there’s still ‘ope for you.”  
Before Ciel can string together a coherent question, the figure in the brown cloak is limping away at remarkable speed for one so crippled.

“Follow him.” He orders. Sebastian bows, and disappears.

The hired carriage is only two streets away, and the driver has been tipped generously for his silence. Ciel settles himself comfortably in the seat to await Sebastian’s return. Once it becomes clear who is behind tonight’s dealings- presumably, whomever wrote the letter in blood-, it will be a simple matter of securing and interrogating, probably followed by dispatching.

In the meantime, there is plenty to think about. Ciel withdraws the inconspicuous little snuff box from his pocket. There’s no point questioning why people search out the extremes of escapism- he’s seen the worst of reality, after all. But did the victims know that the contents of this box in his palm are lethal? Perhaps they considered their lives a price worth paying for whatever it was they hoped to see. Ciel replays the wasted old deliverer’s last words in his mind. _Anyone who resorts to what’s in that box is beyond salvation._  
Funny, Ciel thinks. I have no intention of sampling this Venom Salt. But I’m the right person to have it in my possession- after all, my soul is entirely beyond redemption.  
He pops open the lid with his thumbnail and peers into the box, examining the coarse greyish powder inside.

And sneezes.

“Hell!” he curses through his cough, slamming the little box shut. But it’s too late. Even as he covers his face and makes to dive out of the carriage, he can feel something land in his eye and start to burn.


	3. His Butler, Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The damage has been done...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have started off a bit clunky, I apologise for that. I just needed to lay down some details which will be important later.

“Sebastian!”

The Demon in question is already returning to his master when he hears the shout- and feels it on the back of his hand, of course. He quickens his pace, arriving back in the alley in seconds rather than minutes.  
The young Lord is on his knees in front of the open carriage door, as though he has just fallen out, coughing violently. Sebastian hurries to his side and takes of his elbow.  
“Master, are you-“

“You’ve had a bloody cat in here, haven’t you!” It’s not a question. Ciel looks up at Sebastian, revealing that his eye and nose are swollen and red.

“This is more than an allergic reaction.” Sebastian frowns as he presses his gloved fingers gently to Ciel’s left eyelid, which is hot and heavy. Tears begin streaking down the boy’s cheek.

“The box,” he chokes, “It was open when I sneezed. Some of the- it went in my eye. And it burns like Hell.”

“Oh dear.” Sebastian says mildly, lifting up his Lord. There is surely an argument to come over where the fault lies in this unfortunate incident, but it can wait. “We’d best hurry home so I can deliver proper medical attention, before I tell you what I have found out.”

 

\---

Even at Sebastian’s inhuman pace, by the time Ciel is back in his study at the Manor, he’s having to keep his eye clamped shut to stop himself wanting to vomit from the pain. Worse, his vision is blurry, no matter how much he squints or shakes his head- he can see using his red eye but the stinging in the blue is making it almost impossible to focus.  
“Identify that substance whatever way you can.” He orders Sebastian. “We need to find out before anybody else is killed.”

The demon is wringing out a damp cloth, which he proceeds to press to Ciel’s face. “The only thing I can think to do is rinse your eye and wait for the effects to subside- I can give you something for the pain?”

Ciel makes a derisive noise. “I’ve had quite enough of drugs tonight thank you very much. Now tell me what you found out.”

Sebastian splashes more cold water onto Ciel’s face, perhaps a little more than really necessary. “I followed our contact back to a boarding house where he delivered the money and the details to another man, who paid him. Afterwards he merely went for a drink. I have concluded he is of no significance. As for the apparent boss of the enterprise, however… He is booked into the boarding house under the name Fredrick S Turner, although that may of course be an alias, I will know upon further investigation. This man seems as though he knows more than the other- he had a stash of Venom Salt in his pocket, and he dissolved it into tea and drank it, apparently without any harm- in fact I think he just fell asleep.”

Ciel swats away Sebastian’s hand. “So why on Earth didn’t you interrogate this man?” he demands.

“Because,” Sebastian answers, in an uncharacteristically grim tone, “Fredrick Turner bears the mark of a Contract with a demon on the back of his neck. And so I cannot make a move without alerting one of my own kind that I intend to mess with their prey.”

 

\---

With his teeth gritted against the burning and his eyepatch secured over his left eye instead of his right, holding a wod of chamomile-soaked cotton in place, Ciel pours over every text in the rather impressive Phantomhive library that might contain references to death by drug taking, even fiction. The collection of outdated pseudo-medical books do yield a couple of sketches of corpses with their eyes rolled right back into their heads, but of course claims this to be the result of Satanic possession. None of the substances described in his Father’s reference books match up with the contents of the snuff box sitting on the desk, securely wrapped in a handkerchief.  
Sighing, Ciel shoves a pile of books to the side and slumps foreward, cradling his head in his hands. Sebastian tried to persuade him to rest, but he can’t just go to bed with the knowledge that somebody else in the Underground has a demonic servant. His own is currently trying to find out more about the mysterious Turner. And besides, there’s no way he could sleep with such a feeling of burning in and around one of his eyes.

It’s almost seven in the morning now. Lizzie will probably wake up soon. Ciel feels a little guilty for not spending very much time with her since taking on this case- but she’s not exactly far away. It’s actually quite tempting to just slip upstairs now, but she’ll probably make a fuss about his eye. And he can hardly pretend that he’s not in pain, because his hands are shaking.

“Master?” Ciel realizes that Sebastian has appeared in the room, with a tea tray. “I must insist that you take a break, my Lord.” The butler places of cup of tea in front of him and starts uncovering his eye so that he can examine it. “You are obviously suffering, and putting on a brave face will not aid my investigation attempts.”

“Do you have anything to report?” Ciel notes that the tea tastes a little different. Must be a new type, but that’s not really important now.

“Nothing as yet, I merely came back to check on you and the day’s preparations.” Sebastian is now peeling back Ciel’s eyelids to peer underneath. “But rest assured, I will not disappoint.” He draws back and bows, watching his Master drink his tea.

“Hmm.” The calming effect of the hot liquid makes Ciel realizes just how exhausted he is. His heavy gaze falls upon the history book in front of him, open at an article on the German physician Friedrich Sertürner, the discoverer of morphine.  
“Of course. Fredrick S Turner. How clever.” He mumbles. “Morphine.”

That would be why the tea tastes strange. And then he thinks nothing.

Sebastian watches his young Master’s head droop, and removes the teacup from his limp hands, setting it back on the tray. Well, the boy didn’t explicitly refuse to rest, did he? The demon tucks a light blanket around the sleeping human before making his exit and setting off for the garden. A pair of eyes glowing in the darkness watch him approach.

“At last.” Sebastian smiles. “We meet again, and this time we shouldn’t be interrupted.”

\---

Elizabeth has spent the day overseeing a handful of changes to the Manor, making it more homely. She and her husband tend to use a small drawing room upstairs for most of their private recreation, so she’s arranged for comfortable new sofa cushions and is planning to quilt a nice throw under which they can snuggle as they read together.  
It’s late now. She hasn’t heard from Ciel since he went off to London the day before yesterday- so when she slips into his bedroom to look for the collection of short Dickens stories that they’ve been reading, intending to place it in their drawing room ready for his return, she’s astonished to find him there in the bed, apparently sleeping.

“Ciel! I didn’t know you were back!” She smiles as she approaches the best. Ciel stirs when he hears her voice.

“I returned only about an hour ago,” he mumbles. “Had to retire immediately because I shall be out again at three or so.”

Lizzie frowns. “I think you’ve been working too hard.” _And I know that you’re lying because your carriage hasn’t even returned, but that can wait_. She perches herself next to him, putting a hand to his cheek.

“Mm.” He nudges his face slightly against her touch, finally opening his eyes. They seem bloodshot and hazy, but she attributes that to his tiredness.  
Ciel doesn’t though. He bolts upright, shoving her aside, and leaps out of bed. He’s still dressed.

“What is it?” Lizzie watches him peer frantically at himself in the mirror, paying particular attention to his blue human eye.

“Shit.” He curses, paying no attention to her, instead looking around. “Where’s my eyepatch?”

“Here.” She picks it up from the bedside table and brings it to him. “Ciel, please, what’s wrong?”

He ties the eyepatch in place over his right eye, and immediately cries out in dismay, grabbing onto her shoulder. “I can’t see! It isn’t working!” He tears the eyepatch off, and squints as though somebody has just turned the light back on. “My human eye… it’s blind.”

“Call Sebastian.” is Lizzie’s immediate suggestion. She’s become rather skilled at staying calm when others can’t, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

“No.” Ciel’s voice has taken on its cold, sharp tone, the one she hates. “That bastard’s done enough already.”

Her brow furrows as she absorbs the words, watching Ciel begin to pace up and down. Does he mean that Sebastian has caused him deliberate harm?  
“Ciel,” she says quietly, reaching out to stop him mid-step. “I don’t understand. You’re acting like this isn’t an accident. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” He flings her arm away from him. “This doesn’t concern you Lizzie. It’s best if you stay out of the way until…” The end of the sentence trails off as Ciel strides across the room and out the door without looking at her.

Lizzie sits heavily down on the bed with a sigh. This is not like him. Even when he’s being secretive, he’s not dismissive of her. His temper is understandable, given the confusion and fear he must be feeling at the sudden loss of sight in one eye, but still-  
“I wish you wouldn’t keep me in the dark, Ciel.” She whispers. It’s tempting to just give in to self-pity for the time being. But that is not the way of a Phantomhive wife. Worrying for Ciel won’t help him either. So she finds the missing book and takes it to their drawing room, and then heads to her own bedroom.

Where Ronald Knox is sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed.

“Long time no see, Princess.” He grins.

“Hello.” Lizzie is a little surprised to see him, and it must show on her face, because his grin widens, making his eyes sparkle.

“You left your window open.”

“I did. I was just distracted, and I didn’t know how soon you’d come.” She sits down on the edge of the bed, looking up at the ceiling. “How are things?”

He scoots over to her, looking sideways at her with his chin resting on his hands. “Same as ever. You?”

Lizzie blinks a couple of times, wondering whether or not to spill everything.  
“Boring,” she says at last, in a decisive tone. “Everything is boring. Take me on an adventure.”

Ronald chuckles. “Don’t tell me that the good Lady Phantomhive wants more from life than being a trophy wife in a big ol’ country house.”

“It’s not like that, it’s-“ she shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“I won’t ask if you don’t wanna tell.” He shrugs, getting to his feet and retrieving his jacket, which he has discarded near the window. “But you’re the one who let me in.” Ronald winks, before grabbing both her hands and pulling her up. “Come on. Lemme show you something awesome.”


	4. Her Ladyship, High Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie's little midnight adventure takes a rather sour turn when she sees- or thinks she sees- something awful...

“Wow.”

 Lizzie’s eyes can’t seem to widen sufficiently to take in everything she can see. It’s dark, of course, but the stars above and the streetlamps below give an orange-tinted illumination to the city.

 “Wow.” She says again.

 “Really? You’ve been to another realm of existence but you lose it over being on a roof?”

 They are indeed standing on a roof- but not just any roof; the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral. It’s windy, but it affords a fantastic view. Lizzie has yet to move from where they materialized, her heels dug firmly in for grip, but as the moments pass she starts to feel bolder. Or perhaps the idea of falling from such a height is actually rather thrilling.

“Look there.” Ronald is pointing over the smaller buildings to the river, his own shoes- and nonchalance- affording him a perfect balance. There’s a shape that looks like a rowboat drifting in the middle of the water, probably fishermen. Even as they watch, the boat begins to disappear.

“What-“ Lizzie suddenly realizes exactly what she’s witnessing. “It’s sinking, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” The Reaper checks his watch. “Collection due anytime now actually, four of ‘em. It was meant to be my last job of the shift but I persuaded someone to cover me so I could actually get off on time for once.”

She trains her eyes hard on the boat-shaped blob. As soon as it has been swallowed up by the water, there is a flicker of blue light that she guesses must signal the appearance of a Reaper. Then four screams echo across the water. And that’s all she can see or hear.  
“Did… did I just witness four people dying?” she whispers. Suddenly it seems very cold.

“From a safe distance, but yeah.” An arm snakes round her waist. “And probably not for the first time. You just never knew what to look for before.”

Four people, drowning to death down below her. She never saw their faces, so it’s not like she should feel sad… should she?”  
“That’s not what you meant by something awesome, is it?” She narrows her eyes at Ronald.

He laughs at her. “If you wanna see death up close and personal then I can arrange it, no prob.”

“You’re vile.” But Lizzie bites her lip as she turns away. 

“If you say so.” Ronald tugs at her hand. “Let’s climb up to the top.”

“Huh?” She turns round- somewhat precariously- to look at the stone columns which support the golden spire. But before she has a chance to say any actual words, she’s being dragged across to its base.  
_I’m wearing a dress_ , she thinks. _I’m wearing two petticoats, an underskirt and a corset. And I’m about to try and climb the spire of St Paul’s Cathedral._

“I’ll catch you if you fall,” grins Ronald. “But you won’t if you stop dithering.”  
And then she is placing the toe of one boot into a dip in the stone, and gripping whatever she can reach above her head with two sweaty hands, and the wind is lifting her hair and her clothes and she’s convinced that she’s going to slip at any moment, any moment now.

But she doesn’t. And Ronald has already scrambled right to the top and is reaching a hand out to pull her upright, holding her by the hips as she finds something, _anything_ on which to stand.

“See?” That cocky inflection is as present as ever. “You didn’t fall.”

Lizzie spreads her arms out either side of her, as though trying to hold on to the air. “I’m the highest person in all of England right now,” she realizes, and then lets out the most unladylike of screams, part from terror, but mostly from the euphoria that’s buzzing in her veins as she stands, drinking in the fact that she can see for what might well be _miles_ over the ignorant city, while the wind continues to encircle her.  
“Woohoo!” She yells again into the night, trembling from the rush of endorphins. Both of them are laughing now, and it almost makes them fall, but Ronald tightens his grip.

“Woops!” He splutters, and then, “Wait a sec.”

Two pairs of green eyes fall on the street below them, training on a sudden movement in the shadows.  
Ronald sniffs, and wrinkles his nose. “Eurgh. Vermin.”

Lizzie’s mouth falls open. “Is that Sebastian?”

 

 

It is, perhaps, a little degrading for a demon to walk the earth in the footsteps of a human; if so, then to be treading in the steps left by a _cat_ is by comparison an honour. Sebastian can’t stop smirking to himself as he follows his lady through the dark streets, admiring the dark speckles on her smooth ginger coat.  
With each clandestine meeting comes more danger; after last night’s little accident, Sebastian has deemed it no longer safe to have his lady visit him at either the manor or the townhouse. Which is why, after a long day of mostly-pointless espionage, he is following her to her own home.

“Really?” Sebastian wrinkles his nose as he realizes that the little cat has stopped outside a rather shabby inn. “This won’t do for a lady, I don’t know how you bear it.”  
And then he realizes exactly where they are. This innocuous building is the current lodgings of the mysterious Fredrick S Turner, dealer of Venom Salt and one half of a Faustian contract with an as yet unknown demon.  
“Well, well, well..” Sebastian crouches down to give his lady a good scratch behind the ears. “If only we had a common tongue, I’m sure those beautiful yellow eyes have seen so much…”

It’s entirely frustrating to not be able to just torture the human for information, but Sebastian knows he can’t risk making an enemy of his own kind- and not only for his sake, for that of the Earl too. A human with a demon side would no doubt be considered a heinous phenomenom, and Sebastian doesn’t want somebody else trying to destroy _his_ Master. _No, that privilege is mine alone._

For the umpteenth time in the last twenty-four hours, Sebastian questions his decision to pretend as though he didn’t recognize the contents of that troublesome little snuff box. “You see,” he tells the purring cat, “Venom Salt does indeed come from a poisonous animal, a spider to be exact, but one that lives in my world rather than the human world. Calling it a salt is something of irony, given that salt has historically been used as a deterrent for-“

He cuts himself off abruptly, sinking into the shadows as the inn’s door creaks open and a young human female staggers out, reeking of fear. It’s immediately obvious what she has consumed to put her in such a state.  
Knowing he probably doesn’t have much time, Sebastian jumps out in front of the young woman and grabs her shoulders. “Can you see me?” He demands. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes are trying to focus on him, but fail and roll upwards, right back into her skull. She’s slumping forwards into his grip, gasping and shaking.  
“I can see them.” She mumbles. “I can see their eyes. They’re watching me, how can they be watching me? They’re blind!” This last is shrieked, her voice having grown in pitch and intensity until it sounds strangled. She coughs. Strings of blood splatter against Sebastian’s chest.

He lets go and steps away, watching her crumble to the pavement and die; there’s nothing he can do to save her, after all. A worthy death though, as the Master’s suspicions are now confirmed; Venom Salt is indeed the killer.  
“Why, though? Why manufacture such a weapon and get a human to distribute it?” he muses- to thin air. His lady has fled the scene in terror.

Sebastian sighs. Another night cut short by this inconvenient nonsense. Ah well. He should return to check on his Master.

But first, he should take care of whoever- or _whatever-_ is watching him.

 

 

Lizzie wants to cry out in horror, but luckily Ronald has had the sense to clamp his hand over her mouth before they’ve even landed. They’re peering round a corner, hidden but with a perfect view of what is indeed Sebastian. And he’s standing over a corpse.

Wide-eyed, Lizzie watches the demon’s eyes roaming the body at his feet, and flicker to either side as though checking to make sure he’s alone. He can’t know they’re here…. Can he? Demons have exceptional senses, but so do reapers, and she’s sure Ronald wouldn’t be so stupid as to land downwind.

Sebastian tilts his head back to sniff the air, and very deliberately shakes the knives that she knows he keeps hidden in his sleeves, into his gloved hands. Ready to attack. She breathes in sharply, muffled against Ronald’s palm, wondering how to communicate to him that she needs a weapon, and then the demon seems to have a change of heart and is suddenly gone.

Ronald releases her, frowning. “No more scheduled collections tonight. But that’s definitely a dead human.”

“It must be his prey.” Lizzie feels sick at the thought. “He’ll come back to eat the soul when he’s not being watched, I’d bet my wedding ring on it.”

“Speaking of that,” the reaper changes the topic suddenly- “How is it being married to a half demon? Can’t be that rewarding.” His own eyes widen. “Maybe Bassy’s out getting breakfast for little Phantomhive.”

Lizzie punches him in the chest with both fists between her angry words. “My. Husband. Does. Not. Eat. Human. Souls.”

“All the more for me then.” comes a voice from behind them.


	5. His Butler, Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ciel vows to fulfill his duty, even though he may well end up placing both his life and his love on the line... and Sebastian neglects to confess about his cat companion.

Lizzie presses her back against the red brick wall instinctively, staring up at the demon, who snickers.

“It’s your lucky night, both of you. I’m not really interested in killing reapers. Run along now.”

She remains frozen as he sweeps past them like they’re nothing but piles of rubbish, an unmistakable glint in his eyes as he heads towards where the corpse is probably still warm. The same glint had been in Sebastian’s eyes when Lizzie restored Ciel’s missing piece of soul; raw, primal hunger.

“Come on.” There’s a hand tugging at her sleeve. Ronald has summoned his scythe.

Lizzie doesn’t move. “We can’t just let-“

“Look at it.” Ronald’s voice is low but urgent as he points to the body. “Soul or no soul, that person is dead. There’s nothing we can do. It ain’t safe here.” He grabs her more forcefully, and before she even has a chance to close her eyes, they’re suddenly falling through blue light, falling at an impossible speed. Five seconds later, they both touch down on the carpet of Lizzie’s bedroom.

Away from the danger, the details of what she’s witnessed tonight are starting to sink in. She sits on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands.  
“Sebastian must have been spooked by the other demon, and that’s probably the only reason he didn’t attack us.” She groans. “The head servant of my house. The only reason he hasn’t killed me is because of his orders.”

“You’re right to not trust a demon, but I don’t reckon he’s got it in for ya.” Ronald tugs at her wrists until she looks at him. “Just keep acting like you don’t know what’s going on and you’ll be fine.”

“Will you come again? Tomorrow night?” The words come out before she’s consciously aware of thinking them.

“’Course.” The reaper grins. “Just try not to pick any fights with other species between now and then.”

In spite of everything, Lizzie cracks a smile. “Noted.”

“See ya then.” Ronald disappears once more in a small flicker of blue light.

Lizzie painstakingly affects normality as she undresses, puts on her nightgown, and brushes out her hair. It’s already established that she doesn’t trust Sebastian. But he can’t do anything that Ciel isn’t aware and approving of, and she trusts Ciel.  
  
“Of course I trust my husband,” she says aloud to herself, and stops just before getting into bed, creeping instead through the connecting door and climbing into his. It’s cold.

 

\---

 The butler doesn’t come until the third call. He lands effortlessly on the thick Turkish rug, executing a bow.  
“Apologies, my Lord. I was attempting to tail a suspect, but he is proving elusive.”

“Hmm.” Ciel narrows his eyes, not entirely trusting Sebastian. “There had better be a development. I want this business cleaned up as soon as possible.”

Sebastian bows again. “There has been another death, a young woman who had met with Turner only minutes before. This, I believe, proves that we are on the right track, and that Venom Salt is indeed the cause of all the murders.”

So his instincts were right then. Ciel nods. “Then we proceed to the next stage, and we question Turner before eliminating his mode of supply.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond. There is a sudden hesitant air to him, and Ciel feels annoyance bubble up inside him. He takes a step closer to the servant.

“See this?” he demands, gesturing at his blue eye. “After you decided to drug me, I woke up and I couldn’t see out of it at all. Remember what happens when I only use the other one?”

“It causes the demon side of you to act uninhibited.” Sebastian answers quietly, not meeting Ciel’s gaze.

“Exactly. Which means I could fight you right now, and I’m not exactly strong, but I’m sure I could hurt you.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow as he finally meets his master’s eyes. “Are you threatening me, young Master?”

“I am giving you an order.” Ciel responds cooly. “Tell me the truth.”

“As you wish.” Sebastian nods, wiping the smirk from his features. “The substance that humans have dubbed Venom Salt is created by harvesting the poison from the Jorōgumo, a spider that dwells in the depth of Hell. The powdery substance is what remains when the liquid is evaporated, like extracting salt from seawater. I assume that dissolving the cystalised poison into tea or wine makes it less painful to consume- as evidenced by the pain in your eye after your accident. Drinking the pure poison would of course result in a fate many, many times worse than death.”

“So Turner’s demon is supplying him with the substance for… what?” Ciel pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated at the lack of a solid answer.

“Well, humans consume dangerous substances for a reason, a state of supposed enlightenment, or simply an escape from the cruelties of the world.” Sebastian reminds him. “And as for the demon, there is a ready supply of newly-tainted souls on which to feast. Disposable. Easy to miss. Had you not called, I would have seen-”

“So… you’re saying that all the victims have had their souls eaten? Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?” Ciel kicks the leg of his desk, trying to appease the urge to launch himself at Sebastian and claw his eyes out.”

“To protect you,” says Sebastian quietly. “My Lord.”

Ciel freezes with his foot raised, allowing it to drop limply back to the floor. “What?”

“Look at yourself.”

His hand goes cautiously to his face, covering over both his eyes as he absorbs Sebastian’s words. A larger, silk-clad palm covers his own.

“You are a human with a demon fused to you.” His butler murmurs. “A soul split in two, purity and sin wedged into one being. Some would revere you, but most would consider you an abomination. I do not doubt for an instant than any demon who learns of your existence would want to destroy you, much like the angels who began all this.”

“But not you.” Little specks are dancing on the back of Ciel’s eyelids, morphing and unmorphing into shapes against the blackness.

“Of course not, young Master.” Sebastian whispers, every syllable dripping with his true nature. “I am bound by my life and yours to protect you until the end.”

Ciel breathes slowly for a moment, then pushes Sebastian’s hand away from his eyes and draws himself up to his full height.

“Then I too will do my duty, I will ensure that Turner is stopped and this poison is kept out of human hands. And if any demon tries to kill me, let them. Let them know that the human world has a guardian.”

 

\---

 Lizzie is shaken awake by Paula, who bears a tray of tea and breakfast.  
“Good morning, my Lady. I apologise for having to disturb you, but you have an appointment with the physician in an hour-“

“Where’s Ciel?” her tired mind suddenly registers that the other side of the bed is still empty, and doesn’t look like it’s even been touched.

“You just missed him, but he left a note.” Paula hands her a piece of paper with Ciel’s seal on it.

 

_Lizzie-_

_Gone to town on business. May not be back for some time. Go and stay with your family or something.  
I can’t guarantee your safety. Don’t come looking for me._

_-Ciel_

Lizzie crumples the note into a ball, feeling hot tears well up in her eyes and begin to spill onto her cheeks. Alarmed, Paula takes Lizzie’s hands in her own. “What is it, miss Elizabeth? What does it say?”

Granted, it’s a very innocuous letter. But her and Ciel have been writing little correspondances to each other for years, long enough that she can tell immediately that he is not his usual self. And for the last month or so, since professing his love for her, every time Ciel writes her name he draws a small flower next to it, a secret code between them.

There is no such scribble on this letter.

And that’s how she knows she’s lost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jorōgumo- an evil spider from Japanese folklore which, in some variations, can shapeshift into a succubus.
> 
> I'm not happy with the speed at which I'm managing to write this in between my real life commitments, and I'm worried that I'll lose those of you keeping up with it, so I promise some actual action for the next chapter! although I won't specify what sort...


	6. His Lordship, Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets serious.

Fredrick Turner sits at the wobbly desk in his rented room, scribbling furiously. When the paper becomes completely covered with sprawling, smudged writing, he tears it into shreds and brushes those pieces away, so that they flutter to the floor like snowflakes, before reaching for another page and beginning to write ferverishly once more. He repeats this process no less than five times, all the while whispering urgently to himself, before Sebastian steps out of the shadows and seizes his wrists.

The man doesn’t even cry out, simply allows himself to be dragged off the chair and forced to his knees among the torn fragments.

“I have him.” Sebastian announces, seemingly to nobody.

Ciel steps gratefully out of the wardrobe, where he’s been crouched for over an hour now, waiting for Sebastian to confirm that the coast is clear.  
“Good.” He says as he stretches, looking down at their prisoner. “I know that you can summon a demon, but don’t bother, because I assure you that it will be outnumbered. For every question that you refuse to answer, or try to lie about, Sebastian will tear one of your fingers clean off your hand. And once you’ve ran out of fingers, he’ll start on your tongue and your ears. Understood?”

The man on the ground nods, glancing around him as though looking for an escape, but there is none.

“Very well. What is your real name?”

“Henry. Henry Green.”  
“And what is the name you gave to your demon?”

“Claude Faustus.”

Ciel leans against the desk, one eye glowing scarlet as he notices Henry’s whole body shaking.  
“What did you ask for when you summoned him?”

Henry’s eyes drop to the floor. “Infamy. To be the most feared and respected man in the underworld.”

“That would be why you’re dealing a drug that most think is only a legend.” Ciel muses. “Do you care that it’s lethal?”

No answer.

Sebastian looks up from the trembling man to his master. “My Lord, should I start with the left hand or the right?”

Henry lets out a strangled sob. “I never wanted to kill anyone.” He whines. “I only wanted them to see what I could. I suppose they just weren’t… as strong as me.” He finishes with a hiccup.

“Don’t make me laugh.” Ciel’s voice is utterly humourless as he sneers down his nose at the man. “You aren’t strong. You’re pathetic.”

Henry’s sobs fade into sniffles.

“Tell me.” Ciel crosses his arms. “What does one see when under the influence of Venom Salt?”

Henry’s lips turn white as he raises his tear-streaked face. “Life.” He whispers. “All of it at once, and how little it really means. It’s intoxicating, a beautiful tragedy. I keep trying to write about it, but there just aren’t the words. You have to see it. It’s blinding. The ones that die just can’t handle such a truth.” His eyes are wide now, moisture glistening at his lips.

“Hmm.” Ciel glances at Sebastian, who’s face echoes his own curiosity, before back to the obviously deranged prisoner. “And one more question. Henry Green, is there anybody that would miss you if you died?”

The look of rapture vanishes at once. “No.”

Ciel nods at Sebastian. And doesn’t even blink at the sound of Henry’s neck snapping.

 

 

They’re back into the daylight of the street when Ciel suddenly gasps and doubles over, feeling an all too familiar pain rip through him. Sebastian’s hands land on his back.  
“My Lord,” he whispers urgently, “your human body cannot contain a demon without suffering damage. I fear that you are inhibiting the recovery of your sight-“

“Then what would you have me do?” demands Ciel, shrugging off Sebastian’s touch. “Show mercy and fear like a human?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer. There is a rather sickening pause.  
Finally, he murmurs, “This blindness is probably not permanent. It would be best for you to prioritise your own wellbeing while we wait for the effects to subside, I am capable of tracking down Green’s accomplices and ensuring there is no more Venom Salt in circulation. As for…”

“For?” Ciel prompts.  
His question is met only with a sigh.  
Turning round, he sees a speckled ginger cat loping towards them. Sebastian is crouched down to the cobblestones, extending his hand and beckoning the cat closer.

“Really?” Ciel aims a vehement kick at the cat. Sebastian gasps in horror.

“Master, I must admit to hoping that allowing your demon side to dominate might make you see sense… I suppose no such miracle has happened.”

“None at all.” Ciel begins to stride away. Sebastian casts one more forlorn look at his Lady before following behind.

 

\---

 

  _I can’t guarantee your safety._

_Don’t come looking for me._

_I can’t guarantee your safety._

Around and around her mind the words go, like marbles inside a jam jar, scrape scrape of smooth rounded glass against smooth rounded glass. Lizzie presses her hands over her ears, but that’s not enough, so she buries her face in the pillow too.

_Don’t come looking for me._

 

The physician had been particularly interested in her stomach, for some reason, probing eagerly at the flesh and asking her about any unusual pains, and whether she is still bleeding regularly- no and yes. He also peered into her mouth and informed her that she has lost weight since her last checkup two months ago.

It isn’t like the food isn’t good at Phantomhive Manor, she thinks listlessly. Sebastian seems to have found a use for his hideous talents.

Wherever he is now, she hopes it’s where he should be, by Ciel’s side. Demon and human. Except that Ciel is not really human. She’s known it from the start, but has always had faith in his humanity.

No little doodle next to her name.

_I can’t guarantee your safety._

She’s been in danger for a long time, she knows that. Ciel’s words mean something different; I am not protecting you.

_You are no longer safe around me._

 

How does one kill a demon? Death scythes can kill everything, but she only has a small piece of one. But then, it’s only a piece of Ciel that’s actually a demon. It might be enough. Lizzie drags herself off the bed and goes to her jewelry box, pulling out the locket of murky metal and flicking it open. The fragment of scythe falls into her palm and catches the light of the candle beside her bed.

 “Hey, I thought you said you weren’t gonna get into a fight missy.”

 Lizzie turns slowly round, unblinking, watching Ronald climb a little clumsily through her open window.

“I’m not going to fight.” She answers, her voice a monotone that sounds alien to her. “My husband has lost sight in his human eye, meaning that the non-human portion of his soul is the one running his mind. This might well be irreversible. I do not intend to kill him out of self defense. But if it comes to it, I won’t hesitate to kill him out of mercy.”

The words come from nowhere, but they do not taste foreign on her tongue. Through the hours of numbness comes a moment of clarity, and in the instant that it all makes sense, there is no terror or grief. There is only resolve. She seems to be shaking as though crying, but her eyes are dry.

“Hey.” The reaper takes hold of her fist and prises the shard of scythe out of her grasp, setting it down on the dressing table. “You ain’t gotta kill anyone.” He tells her gently, laying a hand to her cheek. “He might come back to you. As a human, I mean. Why wouldn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lizzie frowns.

“Jus’ that he’d be an idiot not to try and save himself for your sake.”

In spite of everything, Lizzie feels a soft chuckle escape her parted lips. “He is an idiot. He always has been.”

“It’s a guy thing.” Ronald pulls her in for a hug.

When they break apart, Lizzie finds curiosity bubbling inside her.  
“Can other species fall in love?” she asks. “Or is it just humans?”

He makes a “pffft” noise and falls backwards onto the bed. “I dunno really. Demons can’t. And reapers don’t exactly need to find a mate for life and settle down either, so there’s no point. But… my boss, Will? You met him, an and you met Grell an’all.”

Lizzie’s eyes widen. “Are they…”

“Nah.” He gestures for her to sit beside him. “But he’s got this way of looking at her, even after telling her off for whatever. She drives ‘im up the wall really, and me too for that matter, but he still looks at her that way, and I wonder.”

Lizzie recalls the stoic, rather beurocratic reaper that she met during her time in Purgatory. From her memory of him, he seems even less likely to have genuine emotions than Sebastian.  
“Maybe you should point it out to Grell,” she suggests.

Ronald snorts. “Romance ain’t really big on a reaper’s list of priorities. We’re more about death.”

“You can make friends though,” Lizzie presses, not liking his tone. “It’s not like you’re all inherently evil the demons are. I mean, you helped me, and I’m just a human…” she bites her lip. “You never really told me why.”

The reaper fidgets a little and adjusts his glasses before responding. “Same reason I’ve passed by here at night on the regular for the past three months to see if you’ve left your window open.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

In the silence, Lizzie begins to almost taste the feeling that’s been plaguing her for what is now the third night in a row. Loneliness. It’s such a weak, selfish thing, but in this world of demons and death, devoid of any notions of real love, that’s all there is.  
So when Ronald’s lips begin to edge cautiously towards hers, she doesn’t pull away, but closes the distance.

It’s wrong, of course it is. But it feels good.

When they part, he looks down at the ground. “Sorry. That was stupid.”

“Do it again.” She whispers.

This time it’s less hesitant, less curious, and she finds herself leaning into him. Ronald’s fingers find her hair and brush a few strands away from her neck, lingering there as he licks softly against her bottom lip. Lizzie sighs at the sensation.

He draws back again, but looking at her this time. “You and the Earl, I take it you’ve…”

She nods, feeling herself going scarlet.

“Does he make you feel good?” he whispers.

“What do you mean?” Lizzie is utterly thrown by this question.

“I mean, do you enjoy it the way he does?”

“I don’t understa- ahh…” the word dies in her throat as Ronald brushes his lips over the sensitive skin there, from one side to the other and up to her ear.

“I could show you, if you want.” He murmurs.

This is wrong. She knows it. But there’s a fire beginning to burn in her stomach, fuelled by his lips and teeth at her earlobe and the knowledge that there is no love now, only this, whatever it is.

“Okay,” she breathes, and a moment later she is on her back, feeling his weight and heat encompass her.

She’s never been kissed like this before. The hand that’s snaking over her ribs seems to sending sparks dancing over her body, soaking through clothing and into flesh. Down it goes, the fire getting hotter and hotter as he tugs at her dress to kiss her sternum and collarbone. When he touches her in the most forbidden place, in the most forbidden way, all the loss and all the death that weigh her down seem to evaporate, leaving only the heat.

Lizzie knots her fingers into his hair, gasping as the sensation builds. She has no idea what it is and it’s scary, but she doesn’t want it to stop, not now, not-

“Shh.” Ronald covers her lips with his own, swallowing the moan he must have known she was about to release. Lizzie feels like she’s dying as she peaks, in the most thrilling of ways. When it’s over, she bursts into sobs. Ronald rearranges her skirts around her and lets her hide her face in his shoulder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like y'all are going to start hating me pretty soon, and if you don't then believe me you will by the end...


	7. His Steward, Assisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with Tanaka gives Lizzie more than he bargains for. Ciel is impatient as always.

She’s been in the bath for an hour now, and the water has gone cold, but she still feels dirty. Lizzie closes her eyes and leans back as far as she can, immersing the whole of her body. How long can a human hold their breath for? She begins to count.

At forty two seconds, there’s a knock on the door. She sits upright, exhaling and breathing in clean air to clear the spinning in her head before calling, “Who is it?”

“Apologies for the intrusion.” Comes a soft, slightly gravelly voice. Tanaka. “May I come in?”

Lizzie draws her knees to her chest and says, “Alright.”  
  
The ancient steward is holding a thick bathrobe which has been hanging over the fire in the kitchen to warm up. It smells a little of garlic, but as he closes his eyes and holds it out for Lizzie to step into, she’s grateful nonetheless.  
“What I am going to say to you is not in my place as your servant, but I think you will want to hear it anyway, sweet child.” Tanaka moves to stand behind her as she sits, and begins to dry her hair.

Lizzie closes her eyes and nods once.

“I am an old man in a new world, and many think that we are out of touch, too set in our ways; and in some respects, they are right. But the young forget one important thing- we have lived a long time. I have served the house of Phantomhive for fifty years now, so I daresay I have seen more than most. All my life, I have put my faith in God and His judgement, even when He saw fit to burn this manor to the ground. And when the young Lord summoned a demon and appointed it as his butler, I knew also that it was for reasons beyond the comprehension of a mortal old man, and so I kept quiet and continued to do my duty.”

Lizzie sits up straight, frowning. “You knew about Sebastian this whole time? Before the rest of us?”

“Indeed.” Tanaka resumes his work. “It was not easy to stand by and watch my Master damn himself, but it was my job as the guardian of the Phantomhive family. The poor boy truly is beyond redemption, and I do not believe even you will be able to save him, my Lady. But you can save yourself.”

She takes her time to absorb his words. Of course, the elderly servant must always have known more than he let on, he would have been blind not to notice. He probably knows about the splitting of Ciel’s soul too, despite them never giving the details to any of the servants.

Lizzie is shaken out of her thoughts by Tanaka kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in his own.  
“Lady Phantomhive,” he says solemnly, “As head butler and guardian of this house I implore you to turn to the Light. Leave behind the evil to which you have promised your life, and live it instead through the eyes of God.”

She studies the deeply lined face, with its eyes far, far too clear and sharp for someone approaching eighty. Kind eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she answers quietly, “but I belong in the world of darkness now. I have already renounced God.”

“I was afraid you would say as much.” Tanaka takes something from his breast pocket and places it in her palm. “This was bequeathed to me by the first Earl I served, your great-Uncle. It will give off light when in close proximity to its twin.”

Lizzie looks at what’s in her hand and immediately recognizes the dull metal of the egg-sized locket. She clicks it open to reveal a loose gemstone. Blue.

“I shall leave you in peace. Thank you for listening.” Tanaka bows and leaves, leaving her staring at the gift.

The stone is the same as the one in Ciel’s ring. Lizzie picks it up between thumb and forefinger and brings it close to her face, turning it around so that the facets glint almost hypnotically.

Not only has Tanaka known from the start that Sebastian is a demon, this family has been involved with supernatural forces for longer than that, much longer. Even lacking the green beads, there is no doubt about the origin of the locket- a souvenier from Purgatory. One of her and Ciel’s ancestors must have been there, or at least met a Reaper. She gets the feeling that Ciel isn’t aware of this, in fact perhaps nobody else.

 

_I do not believe even you will be able to save him, my Lady. But you can save yourself._

 

Lizzie mulls over the words as she dresses and brushes out her long golden hair. She now possesses a tool to help her find her husband. But does she really want to? She remembers vividly how he was on that day three months ago when he suppressed his human side in order to fight, and it was beyond terrifying. Sebastian had predicted that the longer Ciel existed as a demon, the stronger his powers would grow- and the more damage it would cause him.

Will he even be capable of loving her now, or do all humans just look like food? No, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the pain that racked his body when he suppressed his humanity, the way he suffered.

She won’t let him do that to himself any longer.

 

\--

 

“It doesn’t make sense.” Ciel speaks through gritted teeth as he paces the paper-littered room. “Surely, if a human in a contract dies, the demon on the other end can feel it?”

“Not necessarily.” Sebastian stands by the door, the perfect contrast of calm and patient. “The bond may be relatively weak, depending on the location of the marks, and grows over time. I imagine that Green formed his contract only very recently, and I trailed him for near two days but only caught sight of his demon when there was a fresh kill.”

“Hmm.” Ciel presses a hand to his forehead, the pain behind his eyes intensifying the longer they _wait_ . “I suppose you’d feel it if I died then.”

“That is not allowed.” The servant replies smoothly. “Your premature demise would require me to be away for your side when you are in danger, and such a discrepancy is not my way.”

“Of course,” mutters Ciel, and then, “But he had human accomplices. _Somebody_ must know where the rest of the drug is.” He turns to Sebastian, scowling. “Tell me again why you couldn’t just search the city. It would take a matter of minutes.”

“Because the substance leaves no trace apart from the characteristics of a fatal overdose. It doesn’t even have a scent I could follow.”

Sebastian watches his young Master resume his pacing, noting his growing irritation.  
“You don’t trust me anymore, my Lord.” He says after a while. “It suits you.”

“Huh?”

The demon flashes his cold smile. “Patience, trust, they are meaningless human notions, the sort which will ultimately hold one back. You appear less human as every minute passes, and I daresay that hunger will be even more becoming of you.”

 _Hunger._ The word rattles around inside him, making Ciel remember just how _empty_ he feels. He fishes for his handkerchief and wipes a bead of hot sweat from his forehead. The room is stuffy and he’s been pacing ceaselessly for a good three hours, but that’s not why he’s hot; it’s coming from inside him. The heat. Where the human used to be.  
“How long do I have?” He asks quietly.

Sebastian seems to take his time to think before answering. “Frankly, Master, I’m surprised you’ve not succumbed yet. It’s been almost two days since you awoke without your sight. You haven’t eaten or slept since then.”

Ciel lets out a humourless laugh. “Which do you think will go first, my mind or my body?”

“What makes you think you still have your mind?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow.

That catches him out. Ciel stands still to fix his gaze on his butler and scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands.

Sebastian bows his head, the picture of a sincere servant once more. “I apologise, my young Lord. I am not trying to mess you. But we have already had this conversation, word for word. Less than twenty minutes ago.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a theory about the Phantomhives' history and a certain, and it's given me a bit of inspiration for the story, but i shan't give the details just yet...


	8. Her Ladyship, Witnessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of our cinnamon roll protagonists are getting a bit dark and messed up, I'm sorry...
> 
> (I'm not)

Tap tap tap. Knuckles in black leather against the glass.  
Lizzie is just finishing dressing for the evening. She sighs before going to the window and sliding it open.  
“Hey.” Says Ronald.

She’s wearing her reaper armour beneath her dress, and sturdy boots. Her twin swords lie on the bed. Anticipating him, even though she didn’t leave the window open.

“Still up for it?” He asks, a little nervously. “Comin’ to see a reap, I mean.”

Human death. It’s something she’s already far too familiar with. Hell, she’s basically _died_ before.  
“Of course I want to see.” Lizzie tucks the swords into their hidden sheaths, just in case of any trouble.

Ronald is grinning like usual, but something else flashes for just a second, perhaps awe, perhaps fear. It’s gone in a moment, and he’s helping her climb out of the window, and away into the sky.

They materialize on a bridge somewhere in the city. The evening sun stares out from the depths of the dirty river water like an eye. _I’m watching you,_ it seems to say. _I know what you’re doing._

Lizzie turns her back on the reflection and peers at Ronald’s little leather-bound book, which he explains holds his personal schedule for the next nine days.

“Most humans would kill for a chance to look in there,” she thinks aloud, and then, noticing Ronald’s face? “What?”

“Nothin’.” He quickly looks back at the page, the edge of which is fluttering in the gentle wind. “Just that you’re starting to talk like you ain’t one of them.”

“Of course I am one of them.” Lizzie frowns. “One of us.” _Whatever happens, I will always have my humanity._

Ronald doesn’t say anything in response, just checks his watch. “Sixteen minutes past seven. Forty year old Herbet Smalls is gonna come along here in exactly three minutes and fall in the water.”

“How do you know he doesn’t get pushed?” Lizzie wonders.

Ronald shrugs. “I don’t, I just know he drowns.”

She knows enough about this process to understand that the reapers always have the option to spare the life in question, but that they rarely do- there’s no personal gain in it after all. No emotion, either- it’s taken her this long to learn that the creatures are capable of any at all.

_There you go again, having thoughts that no other human does. No wonder that demon mistook you for a reaper._

“Oi, you bastard! Get out of ‘ere!”

Lizzie jumps at the yell, which is followed by a thump and some muffled curses. The shouter, a woman by the sound of it, answers with “And don’t give me that! Go home before Molly stops letting you back in for good.”

A man appears from around a corner, staggering. Wild drunk. Ronald checks his watch as the stumbling figure begins to cross the bridge.  
“Nineteen on the dot. This is ‘im.”

Herbert Smalls is swearing under his breath as he meanders over the uneven stones and doesn’t even notice that he’s tripping over until he lurches to one side and rests his considerable weight against the railings. By then it’s too late to do anything, and his drunken mind registers the situation just in time to stammer out one last curse before he topples straight over the railing and into the river.

Lizzie feels water splash on her, they’re close enough. The next fourty-five seconds seem to last a decade, and then the target bobs to the surface, face down, dark red wisps trailing from the side of his head. _Its_ head.

“Musta cracked the skull on rock.” Ronald pulls the lever on his motorized scythe- surely such a noise gets noticed?- and leans over the railings to effortlessly slice into the body’s back.

Lizzie can’t see the cinematic record, but she can _feel_ it. Tangible life, tendons of memories sprouting forth and flexing like fingers, attracted to the warmth of her skin and brushing against her, anywhere they can reach.

“Nothing fun here,” she hears Ronald say, “Just a bad-tempered drunkard”, but she’s not really listening, she’s watching the body in the river thrash for a few seconds before stilling, feeling the adrenaline pooling at her fingertips. _Alive._

Abruptly, the scythe’s motor stops. Ronald casts one last look at the corpse before raising one eyebrow at her.  
“Done and dusted. Not running away sobbing?”

“I felt it,” Lizzie whispers, realizing she’s trembling, “I felt him die.” It’s like being up on the roof of St Paul’s all over again, only this time much, much more intense. As though the closer she is to death, the more endorphins course through her veins. A laugh begins to bubble out of her throat, and Ronald looks surprised, so she kisses him, which makes him look even more surprised. Finally, Lizzie closes her eyes and counts her breath as she tries to collect her thoughts.

He touches her hand gently. “I got another collection in this area before I take you back home. If you liked this one, then just wait, the next is gonna be fantastic.”

 

\---

 

“Four of them.” Ciel remains staring out of the window at the darkening street, but he knows that Sebastian is giving him a questioning look. “They’ll be here soon.”

“That’s a very impressive instinct, young Master.” The butler treads softly across the creaking floorboards to stand at Ciel’s shoulder, placing a gloved hand on it. “Demons tend to be able to anticipate an opponent’s next move in a fight, but this is something else entirely.”

“Humans call it gut feeling. I suppose having both makes me…”  
He doesn’t finish the sentence because suddenly his head is spinning and his knees are buckling and Sebastian is catching him as he falls.

It hurts. It hurts in the way that makes him want to tear at his clothing, at his skin, open up his body and pull out the last bits of humanity that are the reason he feels as though he’s simultaneously being burned with fire and crushed by boulders.

“Humanity is _weakness_.” He mumbles, fists turning knuckles white and marking crescent-moons from his nails into his palms. He’s vaguely aware of Sebastian carrying him to the bed and sitting him there to examine him, of trembling so hard he can barely keep his spine upright.

 _Humanity is weakness_. The corpse that they threw in the river, it sold its soul just for a bit of respect and notoriety, and to be able to manipulate others by giving them an inhuman drug that killed them in their haste to validate their own existence via some intoxicated epiphany. The others, the dealers, motivated solely by fear or money- their approaching deaths won’t be mourned either.  
And himself? A filthy, sobbing child, already twisted and disturbed but ultimately powerless, _helpless_. Who would be nothing without a demon to fight his battles for him, even prepare his goddamned _food_ and _baths_ -

“My Lord, can you hear me?”

Sebastian is cupping his face in both hands, gloveless. Ciel feels himself being dragged back to reality by the touch, and the room is no longer spinning, but the anger is still churning in his stomach.

“I can smell them approaching. I shall ask the questions, so you need not strain yourself, but how would you wish me to dispose of them?”

Ciel pushes Sebastian away and stands. The anger seems to have given him strength.  
“I shall kill them myself.” He announces.

 

 

“Four of them.” Ronald closes his black leather notebook and tucks it back into his pocket. “Actual cause unknown, but there’s a note saying that it’s sorta violent.”  
“That doesn’t bother me.” Lizzie smooths down the front of her dress and opens the door to the shabby little building.

But Ronald catches her elbow, his face suddenly panicked.  
“Hang on.” He whispers. “It ain’t safe. I smell demon.”

Her instincts immediately scream for her to _run_ , but Lizzie stays put, one hand going to her chest and pulling out a locket from underneath her clothing, clicking it open.

A blue stone falls into her palm. Glowing a vivid blue.

“What the hell’s that?”

Distorted shapes swim across Lizzie’s vision as she stares intensely at the bright light cupped in her palm.  
“A sign.” She says, holding it out for Ronald to see. “Come on, I’m going with you.”


	9. His Lordship, Merciless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a lot of talk about blood in this chapter, be warned.

_My Master is no longer human._

_I do not believe a soul like his has ever existed, nor will exist again. A soul split in two, the bigger, lighter half buoyed by the love he received in his childhood and the love he shares now with his Lady; the other side burning black, weighted by the hatred that spawned in the months, perhaps even years in between those loves, dragging him down to Hell._

_I must protect him at all costs, from all threats… including myself, for the time being at least. Fostering that hatred has been amusing throughout my enslavement, and has no doubt contributed to the exquisite composition of that soul. But whilst its light side is overshadowed, he wreaks havoc in his own life, turning away those that care, and everything we have built together becomes at risk._

_Human, he is hindered by morality, weighed down by guilt and fear. Inhuman, he is a beautiful abomination, a paradox worthy of the third or fourth circle. And self-destructive._

_I do not know what he wants, and so I do not know how to protect him. I am glad that I do not understand what it means to be human._

One of the prisoners is recognizable as the limping, sunken-eyed man that they met on the bridge what seems like an eternity ago, but was actually only four nights. He, like two of the three others, is slumped prone on the floor with a hole in the side of his head. The fourth man is still alive, whispering a prayer as the cold metal tip of Ciel’s pistol presses against his skull.

“Perhaps you did not hear me.” The boy speaks icily cold as he looks down at the trembling addict kneeling at his feet. “I will repeat; hand over the key I know you have hidden on your person, and you will die painlessly like your comrades here. Refuse and I will have my butler search you after I’ve shot through both your kneecaps, and then we will leave you to bleed quietly and peacefully to death.”

On the bed are three identical brass keys, which, the interrogation has revealed, open the laboratory where Venom Salt is- _was­-_ manufactured. There are also two bags of the drug itself.

“I told you,” the prisoner whimpers, “I don’t have one. Mr Turner said I couldn’t be trusted not to steal. I just used to collect from the others.”

Ciel repositions the gun so that it’s between the man’s eyes. He doesn’t even seem to realise that his cheeks and the front of his coat are covered in blood. “I don’t believe you.”

“Please”, he whispers, swallowing back sobs and sweating the scent of opium, “Please.”

He repeats only this one word for the next sixty seconds, until the bullets embed themselves in his legs; and then he says no more, just moans low and guttural in his throat, as though screaming is too much for his drug-addled nervous system to handle.

“See if he really is telling the truth,” Ciel orders, turning away and beginning to clean his pistol.

Sebastian kneels beside the writhing man, ignoring his groans, turning his body over to feel for any concealed treasure. While his hands move, his mind once more considers the fact that despite five gunshots, and a handful of screams, nobody has come up to see what is happening. Does this place really have such a reputation that its landlord and patrons don’t bother to concern themselves with such noises?

Strange.

“There is no key anywhere on his body,” Sebastian announces, standing up again and replacing his now bloody gloves with a clean pair. “Or any other drugs. Only a handful of money.”

“Hmph.” Ciel glances briefly at the wounded prisoner; a pitiful sight, too weak from blood loss to shout or struggle but still conscious. “Snap his neck the, since he was telling the truth.”

“Mercy, my Lord?” Sebastian cocks an eyebrow as he effortlessly dispatches the man.

“Convenience.” He answers coldly. “Now, let’s find this laboratory before the reapers get here.”

There’s a sudden burst of screaming from below them, and the sound of glass being broken. Sebastian sniffs the air and grimaces. “I think we’re too late for that.”

 

 

-

 

Lizzie holds her breath as she counts the seconds. The stone clutched in her palm is flickering in time with her breath.

Somebody is still sobbing hysterically downstairs. Apparently bursting into a bar waving a lawnmower and yelling causes a bit of a stir.

“Zero.” Ronald kicks down the door without even bothering to knock, scythe over his shoulder as he struts inside. “Right then.”

Lizzie registers that there are four bodies and a lot of blood on the floor as she follows him into the room, but that’s not important right now, because her husband is standing by the window, holding his gun. Splattered with blood.

“Ciel.” The word falls out of her mouth like a petal falling off a flower.

He turns.

Takes her in with the gaze of one red eye.

Looks away like she’s nothing.

“...My Lady.” Sebastian, whom she didn’t even notice until now, is attempting to steer her away from the pool of blood on the floorboards. “What are you doing here? With one of _them_ , of all things?”

“S’cuse me. “ Ronald pokes one of the still-warm bodies with his black-and-white leather toe, so that the face is visible. He has to squint to compare it with the picture in his book because of the bloody hole in the forehead. “I’m more human than you are, ta.”

“Like that’s something to boast about.” Ciel snorts. “Sebastian, let’s get going.”

“Hold on a moment.” Lizzie ignores both the reaper and the demon. She has eyes only for her husband. “Ciel, I want you to tell me that you’re not in danger!” She tries to sound calm, she really does, but somewhere between the beginning and the end of the sentence her hands become fists and her eyes threaten to start leaking.

But the man- the boy- standing across the room from her, with four ugly corpses between them, only spares her a disinterested glance again. “I told you, this doesn’t concern you.”

She stands her ground. “It does, because I swore to keep you safe! It doesn’t matter if you love me or not, you’re still my concern!”

Ciel looks as though he’s about to shout something angrily at her- but he’s interrupted by his own cry as his body suddenly begins to shudder violently. Tendrils of black smoke seep slowly from his blood-smeared skin as he screams.

Lizzie grabs Sebastian’s arm. “Do something!” she yells.  
But she knows that the butler is as good as powerless, unable to hurt his master in any way. Like her, he can only watch.

No. There has to be something she can do.

The blue cut stone is still clenched in her fist. Lizzie opens her palm, extending it.  
“See this, Ciel?” she yells over his groans. “This is a sign that I’m not giving up on you!”

Maybe he knows what it is. Maybe he doesn’t. But when she tries to reach for him, he snarls like a feral beast.

“Time for us to go I reckon.” Ronald grabs her by the hair, pulling her away from Ciel.

“No!” Lizzie cries. But familiar blue glow is already surrounding them. Amidst the light and the thickening smoke, there is a second snarl. Deeper.

The last thing she sees before they disappear is a pair of demons, one dressed like her husband and the other like their butler, lunging at each other with pointed teeth bared and black-nailed fingers curled like claws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so this chapter has a kind of "wtf is happening" ending...  
> trying not to sound too whiny and tortured-artisty, I'm struggling quite a lot with writing atm and nothing I'm posting anywhere is really getting feedback, its disheartening :( and also, I want to write what my readers want to see because like, that's basically why I write fanfic :P so if you're keeping up with this story while it's a WIP then please take a second just to let me know which aspects of it you're most interested in, and then I'll have a bit more direction. I know how I want to end this story but I'm not quite sure how to get there just yet.  
> Thank you for reading <3


	10. His Lordship, Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no update. Real life has been a thing.  
> But this story has a definite direction now and probably isn't far from completion.

“It was a mistake.” Ronald wears a distressed face. “I shouldn’a brought you tonight.”

Lizzie stares hard at her fingers splayed out over what she recognizes as her bedroom carpet. _Take me back_ , she wants to scream, but there is no point. So she keeps her lips pressed together, swallowing back the emotion.

“I’m sorry.” Ronald crouches down next to her. “Slap me if it’ll make you feel any better. But we both could’ve been gonners if we’d hung around.”

She takes several long, slow breaths before sitting up and looking up at him.  
“I haven’t given up yet.” The whisper is barely audible.

“I know. C’mere.”

Lizzie leans into his chest and closes her eyes, feeling his fingers moving against her hair. There’s blood on the hem of her lovely dress. The stone is cutting into her palm where she’s still clutching it.

She doesn’t know how long they stay there on the floor, but suddenly there’s a rapping of knuckles on the window and Ronald says, “Oh shit.”  
Lizzie jumps, expecting danger, but it’s only Grelle, smirking as she taps at the window again, waving a black collection book in her other hand.

“I’ve still got collections tonight.” Ronald grimaces. “I’m gonna be in trouble.”

“Don’t go.” She pleads in a flat voice.

“I’ll be back.” He’s straightening his tie and brushing off his slacks. “Gotta lie low for a few days, you can guarantee there’ll be demons after my blood if I’m seen with you again any time soon. And my boss. But I’ll be back.”  
He bends and presses a kiss to her trembling lips, and turns and climbs out the window to join Grelle, who is rubbing her hands together and laughing.

Lizzie stays there on the floor for a long time afterwards. Her grip on the blue stone loosens and it falls from her hand with a little thud, rolling away.

 

\---

 

He’s angry.

  
And it hurts.

 Ciel is vaguely aware that Lizzie is there, and she smells of human sin but she smells of something worse, something _good_ that’s repulsive and makes him want to claw her open and destroy it, but then she’s gone and maybe she was never there at all, and Sebastian is forcing his arms behind his back.  
He kicks out, tasting blood in his mouth. _Let me go. Let me go._

The floorboards slam against his face.

“Enough.” Sebastian’s voice is nothing like his usual tone. It’s cold. “My Lord, I cannot allow you to remain like this. You will kill yourself.”

Like this? What does that even mean?

It hurts.

Ciel struggles, but the other demon is far stronger.

“You need to become human again.”

“What is-“ he spits foamy blood and it burns his tongue- “What do you mean again?”

His fingernails are gauging out chunks of the wood beneath him. Sebastian grabs both hands with his, squeezing tightly around the wrists.  
“Do you not remember?”

And through the fog of rage comes realization.

Something is missing.

Ciel squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on that feeling. Pain. His eye. It burns. His chest too, like his lungs are full of ash.  
With all of his strength- something crunches, perhaps a bone- he pushes himself up onto his knees, spitting more hot, thick blood.

“What did you do to me?” he yells at Sebastian. “What happened?”

Something glints in his line of vision, and he braces himself to be struck, but Sebastian is only holding something out for him to see.

_My wedding ring._

_My name is Ciel Phantomhive. I am the current Earl of Phantomhive. Married to Lady Elizabeth Midford. I am the Watchdog of the Queen._

“What happened?” he demands again, but the sound barely slips out of his raw throat. Tears are stinging his face. The room is swimming.

 “You lost your humanity.” Sebastian answers quietly. “But when you wake up it will be back. Or you will not wake up at all.”

 

_My name is Ciel Phantomhive. I am part human, part demon._

_I am human._

“I am human,” Ciel whispers, as his body turns to rock and he slumps forward. Sebastian catches him, cradles him in his arms, stands, walks quickly and quietly out of the dingy, despoiled room full of cooling corpses, out into the street and the black of the night.

 

 ---

 Lizzie is finally drifting into fitful sleep when there’s a knock on the connecting door between her and Ciel’s bedchambers. She reaches under her pillow for the knife and wraps her fingers around the handle before slipping out of bed, approaching the door, and unlocking it.

On the other side stands Sebastian, holding a candelabra aloft. He bows.

“My Lady. I am sorry to disturb you so late. But I thought you should know that I have brought the Young Master home.”

She looks past him. The candlelight falls on a small, prone figure lying in the bed. Lizzie takes her time, looking her fill, making sure it’s really him and he’s really there. Then she turns to Sebastian and orders quietly, “Tell me everything.”

She sits on the side of the bed while the butler stands at its foot, and listens. How the accident involved a demon-manufactured drug which Ciel was investigating under the Queen’s orders. How he refused to let the case go, at the expense of his own humanity. How the human perpetrators have been disposed of, but there is still a demon at large.

“So you see,” he finishes quietly, “I can- and must- put an end to this business. But I cannot save our Lord from himself.”

Lizzie casts another glance at the figure beside her, who might be sleeping, might be dead.

“I do not know how to restore the human in him, other than waiting to see if his human sight returns. But then, I am not a human. And you are.”

“What can I do?” she whispers.

Sebastian bows. “That, My Lady, is something only one capable of human emotions and thought processes can answer. But I believe that you are more qualified than anybody else. And so I leave him in your care.”

 

He leaves the candelabra on the dresser and makes his exit. Probably to go somewhere that humans could only have nightmares about.

Lizzie watches Ciel for some time longer. Breathing, but slowly and shallow. His hair is damp and he is dressed in a clean, crisp white nightshirt, but there are scratches over his cheeks. She takes his hands, examines them. Cuts, bruised knuckles. She imagines Sebastian meticulously scrubbing dried blood from under the fingernails. Making him look more like her husband.

Lizzie’s gaze falls upon the eyepatch abandoned on the dresser. She takes it, returns to the bed, and gently props a pillow behind Ciel’s head so that she can reach around and tie it over his right eye, remembering how he would at first sleep with it there, until she convinced him that the glowing red eye with its pentagram made him no less loveable.

“There.” Lizzie removes the pillow, carefully pulling his head into her lap. “Now you look like my Ciel.”

Her fingers comb through his hair, moving it away from his pale face. His one visible eyelid flutters slightly, but he doesn’t wake up.


	11. Her Ladyship, Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel accepts his new role as an invalid while Sebastian closes the case alone.

 

He feels as though he’s waking from an impossibly, long deep sleep. Ciel yawns, flexes his fingers and opens his eyes.  
Nothing.

“Ciel?” that’s Lizzie’s voice.

“Lizzie?” he tries to sit up, and gentle hands support him. “I can’t see you. I’m still blind.”

“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.

“No,” he answers, and realizes that the burning in both eyes has faded. “It’s just… dark.”

“Don’t stress yourself.” Her fingers brush his hair back out of his face. “You’ll get better. That’s all that matters.”

“But the demon… I have to solve the case.”

“Sebastian’s working on it while I look after you. Here.” There’s the sound of a dish being uncovered, and an appetizing smell wafts into the air. He realizes that’s he hungry. “This is Paula’s recipe, I helped Bard make it.”

Ciel allows Lizzie to spoon-feed him the soup, and it’s good. Warming on the inside.  
“Better?” She asks, when it’s all gone.

“Yes. Thank you.” He answers meekly. He does feel better, but he feels helpless. He wishes he could see Lizzie’s face.

The bed creaks softly as she climbs beside him. “There’s something I have to tell you. I did something awful.”

“No.” Ciel stops her. “I think I know what it was, but… I’ve done so much worse. I can’t bear to hear you trying to apologise for anything, not after the way you saw me.”  
His cheeks feel damp.

Silently, she wraps her arms around him. A handkerchief dabs his face. She’s warm and soft and he can’t believe that she’s still here, after everything he’s put her through, after the evil he let overtake him.

“I wish I could see you.” This time he says it aloud.

“Here.” The bed creaks again and she’s positioning herself over him, a knee either side of his, hands finding his. Ciel swallows at the contact, reminded of the fact that he’s a few months short of sixteen years old and his chest flutters every time Lizzie’s body is close to his. “This is my face.”

She trails his fingers from her forehead- her fringe tickles- down her nose and to her lips. He traces the outline of them, soft and plump, and feels her chin, then to one side to her ear, and down her hair. The curls are springy beneath his fingers, hanging loose down her back. Curiously, he rests his hand against her body where the hair ends. She giggles.  
“That’s my hip.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but he’s not.

“It’s fine.”

She’s wearing a nightgown, he can tell from the lack of corset or puffy skirt. That means nothing underneath. He swallows again. Edges his fingertips upwards.

“That’s my chest,” Lizzie says, and then exhales a sigh as his hand finds its target, shifting on his lap. He’s all too aware of the way his own body is responding to her position.  
Lizzie’s hand covers his again, inching it downwards. Pushing between her thighs.

“You know what this is,” she murmurs softly.

Yes. Twice now they’ve made love, and on several more occasions their lips and hands have sought each other in the night, as they do now. Lizzie’s breath is hitching in her throat as they kiss, and after gently repositioning his exploring fingers, she clutches both of his shoulders. The thought that she’s enjoying his touch is quite a wonderful one.

Now Lizzie is tugging away the covers that are between their bodies, and his nightshirt. Another man has been here, and a small part of him feels jealous- but most of him just feels guilty, knowing from the way she helped him touch her that his slow growth and lack of knowledge has made him selfish, denying her pleasure that she now knows herself to be capable of. He lets slip a groan as her moist warmth surrounds him, and seeks out that little swelling she previously guided him to, continuing to stroke even as his body starts to cry out for release.

Suddenly Lizzie’s nails are digging into his forearms as she whimpers. “It’s good,” she stammers, pushing herself harder against his fingertips and his groin.

“Yeah,” he agrees with another groan, and moments later both of them are gasping out a shared climax, desperate for air but still more desperate to not break the kiss, for as long as possible, until they’re side by side in a haze of exhaustion and tight embrace, and finally Ciel feels like he can breathe again, the burning horror in his chest a mere distant memory, replaced by a softer, sweeter fire.

 

 

\-----

 

Ironic really, to have ended up in the very place this had all begun. Lau’s opium den to be precise. But in the cold grey smog of the pre-dawn hours, all the lamps are extinguished just like the patrons.  
Sebastian’s footsteps make no sound as he crosses the dusty cellar, holding three keys. The door is cleverly designed so that each lock must be undone at the exact same time- impossible for one human to accomplish, but child’s play for one demon.

The smell of Venom Salt assaults his nostrils the moment he pushes open the door to the concealed room- laboratory, one might say. The equipment laid out on the long wooden bench was obviously medical in design, although being used for quite the opposite purpose now. But the thing that he’s most interested in is the figure pinned to the far wall by a series of thick metal chains- Godsteel, it can only be, his head drooping.

“Claude Faustus, I presume.”

At the mention of his name, the other demon raises his head, eyes glowing amber in the darkness. His upper lip curls.  
“And you are Sebastian Michaelis. Where is your Master?”

“Where is yours?” Sebastian retorts, and permits himself to make a sound of mirth. “Dead of course. And yet here you are, bound like a madman in an asylum.” He approaches, trails a black-nailed finger across one of the chains- which glows red in warning for a moment before cooling again. “Pitiful.”

Claude turns his head away, allowing his disgust to show unhindered- but he cannot do anything else, shackled to the rough stone by inhuman power.

“I require answers.” Sebastian announces, turning his back on the pathetic demon to inspect the tools on the bench. “For what did the human wish, when you Sealed your Contract?”

“The usual. Infamy. A means to become wildly rich and respected, but also feared.”

“And so you gave him Jorōgumo poison, and taught him how to make it into a narcotic? My, you must really be running low on tricks. In fact, I would say the bag is empty now.”

Claude narrows his eyes as he fixes them on Sebastian. “The human was merely a pawn. I had already created the substance with the intention of giving it to humans.”

“And why would that be?” Sebastian’s voice is perfectly calm, but in one fluid motion he closes one hand around Claude’s throat, nails ripping the skin.

Claude’s head bows again. He lets out a wheeze of laughter. “I like them to come to me begging and broken. It’s fun.”

Sebastian’s grip falters. Of course, human suffering is the perfect demon idea of fun. But enjoying his own Master’s suffering had just very nearly cost him the soul of a lifetime, after all.  
Watching another demon suffer will have to suffice for now.

“Your little plan appears to have backfired,” he says breezily, stepping back and wiping his bloody fingernails on his silk handkerchief. “Not only have you lost your prey, you’ve managed to become _his_ pawn. Even a human who knows how to forge Godsteel shouldn’t be able to keep you trapped once the Contract has been broken.

“Ah well, you see-“ Claude smiles a humourless smile. “I’m not as strong as I once was. Look into my eyes.”

Sebastian peers closer at the golden irises. They are clouded over, little black specks radiating out from the slit pupils.

“He tricked you.” realizes Sebastian. “Into becoming addicted. I would applaud him if he were alive.”  
A human who can trick and restrain a demon? Those are few and far between. Even his own Master has failed to do so thus far.

“Now you know my shame.” Claude looks down again. “But you will still free me.”

“Oh, I shan’t in the slightest.” Sebastian delicately reaches into his pocket for a pair of clean white gloves, pulls them on, strides across the room ready to exit and seal it for good. “You are beyond pity.”

He’s almost at the door when Claude calls to him, “I have heard whispers about your Young Master. That his Soul was modified somehow. And whispers travel, even if I am imprisoned here. So I think you _will_ free me.”

Sebastian quickly calculates the situation. His Master’s identity must be concealed from the prying eyes and ears of the Otherworlds at all costs. He turns on his heel to face Claude again.  
“What are your demands?”

“Just my release. That is all. Yours?”

“You will not breathe a word of anything you have heard. And if you do, I will ensure you die painfully- even if you are one of my own kind.”

“Then I accept.” Claude’s face splits into a wide grin that unsettles even Sebastian. “And I notice you do not deny anything.”

“I have no need to,” he replies mildly as he summons enough energy to cause the Godsteel restraints to crumble into dust. “I doubt that you will live long enough to find out the truth.”

Freed from his bindings, the other demon exhales a grim laugh as he disappears. Sebastian considers giving chase, but he would really rather not murder his own kind without good reason.

“Her Majesty will pleased to know that this vermin has been expunged,” he tells the air as he locks the door, before flicking a spark of his own fire through each keyhole. “Not a trace left. Not a crumb of the drug, not a speck of spilled blood. I daresay my young Master will be _more_ than pleased.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the chapters I planned way in advance, and was looking forward to writing, but still struggled somewhat. In my timeline, Ciel and Lizzie are fifteen and sixteen respectively, which makes me a little uncomfortable when writing sexual content- particularly in this socio-historic context, where children have to grow up too quickly but don't actually have the life experiences that contemporary teenagers do. However, I wanted to really drive home the intimacy and the trust that's continuing to grow between them, and I think both of them deserve some adorable marriage-times really, while the peace lasts.


End file.
